A Born Knight
by Domlando Blonaghan
Summary: A little oneshot about a different kind of love. A little boy watches Caspian's procession through the Lone Islands and thinks. Dedicated to Francienyc and Jillie. No romance.


**A/N: A little oneshot about a different kind of love. An emulating, admiring love that a child has for his elder. It can be a cool uncle, a father, an older sister, or a King. I just thought that Caspian deserves some love. :D**

**_Dedicated to:_ Jillian and Francie. You ladies jumpstart my imagination, push me to better myself, and give your unflagging support to my writing. For that, I am eternally grateful.

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_**A Born Knight**_

All of the boys stood at the sides of the road, grinning, laughing, shoving and cheering. They whooped with joy and mischief, the way all young people do, and their enthusiasm was infectious as more and more people began to filter out onto the streets and watch the glorious parade that was Caspian and his entourage.

Their armour was polished, and burnished in the sun, and their flags flapped playfully in the constant breeze brought in from the sea. The knights were all grinning and laughing, some waving at the ladies that were gathered and who twittered and giggled behind brightly coloured fans. They compared this knight to that, which was more handsome, which had the brightest eyes or the prettier hair.

Caspian and Drinian were at the front of the group, and only smiled their kind, regal smiles, while controversy and excitement stormed around them. The women whispered about how tall and strong they looked, about how neither were married, and how the ring Drinian wore in his ear made him look rakish and mischievous. No one seemed to notice that they held themselves taller and prouder, that they were more grave and yet more merry than anyone on the island that day. No one except a little boy, who stood off to the side of his friends.

He looked at the two knights and tried to stand taller, tried to broaden his shoulders and widen his stance almost unconsciously as he stared, mesmerized. He wore a constricting school uniform, dull and scratchy and too hot for the weather, and he longed to be wearing the soft, well-worn and fine tunics that these knights wore so gracefully. He stared openly at Caspian, and his grey eyes seemed to light.

The procession stopped while Caspian stopped to pick up a handkerchief which had fluttered strategically down to rest a few feet in front of him, and a bold woman stood out before the rest of her companions, smiling coyly and curtseying. Caspian handed it back to her with a disarming smile, and all of her friends fawned and whispered jealously behind her. Bafflingly, the King seemed indifferent to it all. The boy stared in awe. That this man had such an effect on all of these lovely, untouchable and grand ladies!

The boy thought that the fascinating Caspian must have a very beautiful Queen who he loved very much in order to remain unaffected by women and their games. For the rest of his life, when he began to turn heads with his dark locks of hair and pale, piercing eyes, he would remember Caspian and his gallantry and polite indifference, and wait for his own Queen to come along and claim him, body and soul.

The King walked with an easy gait, his shoulders swaying with the rhythm of his walk, that easy, knowing smile ever-present on his countenance. Once or twice Drinian would say something to him that would make him grin, and the boy could practically hear the women around him sigh at the two men.

The boy loved that King. Those short minutes spent in his vicinity shaped his entire life. His love for Caspian ran as deep as his love for Aslan, perhaps more, because he was real and tangible. The boy was sure that he could not have imagined that gallantry, that courageous presence and that easy friendliness which was as evident from the air around him as it was after five years of knowing him.

For one short moment, the King looked straight into the boy's pale eyes. He seemed to take him in, the messy, curly hair, the shoulders which promised strength, the quiet, somber dignity, and nodded to him, curving his mouth up in an approving half-smile. Caspian may have forgotten that boy when he left the island, but it was burned into the little boy's life and remained with him.

Ten years later, Caspian was playing with his son when a servant told him that a man had arrived and was waiting for him in the Throne Room at the Cair. He rose and went to the visitor. When the tall, lithe man turned around to face him, he grinned and went and clasped the man's hand.

"My dear friend," Caspian said to the little boy who was little no longer, "I had almost despaired of your coming. For truly, since that day during the procession, I had never seen a born knight until you."

The little boy in him swelled with pride, and the man in him knelt before his sovereign. He had been waiting for ten years, and now he was ready.

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**A/N: Inspired by James Douglas and Robert the Bruce in The Bruce Trilogy by Nigel Tranter.**


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